


Help Me See

by SilverBlaze85



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blind Character, Blindness, Established Relationship, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, cut to black sex scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-25
Updated: 2013-01-25
Packaged: 2017-11-26 21:00:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/654367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverBlaze85/pseuds/SilverBlaze85
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean copes with being blinded from a hunt gone wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Help Me See

**Author's Note:**

> This one is for [info]ajforever24, who asked for: Sam/Dean, blind!Dean. Preferably from a hunt. Hopefully, this hits the spot for you sweetie. ^_^ Part of my Winter Prompt 2011 fills.

~~*^*~~

The crystalline sound of glass shattering in the bathroom caught Sam’s attention; Dean’s pissed-off snarl of “Fucking damn it all to hell” had Sam shoving back his chair and not _quite_ racing to the doorway. Dean hadn’t moved, shoulders heaving as he panted, and Sam knew his brother well enough to know by now, it was a combination of rage, frustration, fear and holding back the tears of just being massively pissed off.

“Dean, one step to the right, and straight back,” Sam started, scowling when Dean cut him off.

“I know how to leave the fucking bathroom, Sam. I’m not an invalid.”

“I know you’re not.”

Dean held up a hand, jaw working for a minute. “Don’t. Just…. Don’t, Sam.” He took a shaky breath, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Just, go away, okay?”

“You sure?” Belatedly, Sam realized his error, about the same time Dean snarled again, punching the counter hard. The ‘crack’ wasn’t from the formica, and Dean started swearing all over again as he cradled it; words Sam hadn’t heard since that time Dad worked on the Impala and the wrench slipped, and tore his hands to hell. Sam bit back the sigh, brushing the glass shards away with his shoes before he pressed a hand against his brother’s shoulder. “Come on man, don’t fight me here. Please?” It was a long moment before Dean nodded, shoulders slumping as he gave up the fight, following Sam’s directions meekly. Sam got him situated on the bed by the window, Dean’s bed this time, and crouched on the floor, knee pressing against Dean’s, always letting him know where Sam was.

The hand was already swelling, an angry red that promised stunning colors later, and Dean hissed sharply when Sam followed the bone. “I think you fractured it, but I don’t think it’s fully broken. Want ice first, or want me to wrap it?” He glanced up, taking in the sickly yellowish cast to the bruises still marring Dean’s face. And the cause of it all, the milky cast of Dean’s normally green eyes, and the burns around his eyes.

“I don’t care.” There was no inflection at all, just the robotic sibling that took Dean’s place when he wasn’t screaming and cussing. Sam took a deep breath, trying to keep from snapping at Dean.

“It does matter, Dean. It’s your choice.”

Dean snorted bitterly. “Not really. You took away my choice, remember?”

Yeah, Sam remembered. There was a reason the weapons were still buried in the back of the Impala, a reason the med kit was hidden under the driver’s seat, instead of behind the passenger. Even Dean’s knife he used as a binkie was gone, and Sam could still feel the gauze along Dean’s wrist, thank you very much. “Dean, we’ve been over this. You don’t know,”

“Exactly, Sam. We _don’t_ know. We don’t know if this is reversible. We don’t know if this is the best it gets. And we sure as hell don’t know if I’ll ever be anything but a blind cripple. So don’t even start with me.” Great, pissed-off-Dean was back again.

Sam was starting to wonder if a side effect of the venom was bipolar reactions, because holy hells, it was an exhausting roller coaster ride, trying to keep up with Dean. It was a theory, but even as he thought it, the rational and logical part of his mind piped up, reminding him that Dean didn’t deal well with stress anyway, that anyone would be emotional with this sort of life-altering change, and that Dean dealt with emotions by withdrawing or fighting. And since fighting physically wasn’t really an option anymore, his brother’s tongue had become wickedly sharp.

Still, this was worse than it had been for several days. “We’ve been over this. Bobby’s still looking, and even if it is permanent, then we’ll deal with it. There’s plenty of people who deal with being blind every day, Dean.” He paused, watching Dean’s eyes track sightlessly. He took a gamble, resting his hands on Dean’s knees, thumbs rubbing along the insides gently. “Dean, what’s going on with you?”

“You’re really asking me that?”

“Dean.” The simple word had his brother stilling, giving in like he always did, when it was something Sam seriously wanted. Dean scrubbed his good hand over his face, rubbing at his eyes.

“I just… I can’t see you, Sammy.” The admission seemed to break the floodgates, and Sam’s heart broke when he saw the tear slip free and course down Dean’s cheek. “I can’t see you, and I can’t tell if you’re okay, and you shouldn’t have to do any of this, and I have no idea what the hell I’m supposed to do here, Sammy. I can’t offer you anything when I can’t even frigging see you, let alone protect you.” The words broke around a sob, and Sam couldn’t restrain himself, tugging his brother down into his lap and wrapping him up tightly.

He waited for the sobs to slow, trailing off to sniffling as Dean remained hidden against his shirt, and Sam hadn’t realized he was slowly rocking them. “Dean, we’re _partners_. That means yeah, you got my back, and I trust you explicitly, but that also means I’ve got your back too. You gotta know this, man. I told you, I didn’t get hit. I’m fine, just worried to hell about you. We’ll figure this out, Dean, we always do. We fall back, we regroup and figure out what the hell is going on, and we take it a step at a time again. As for that other bull… I’m not going anywhere. I know that you don’t believe me, and there’s really not anything I can do about that, other than continue to be right here, every day, man. Have a little faith in your brother, would you?”

Dean pulled back a little, useless eyes still trying to track, and Sam’s heart broke a little more when he realized Dean was still trying to force his eyes to see, trying to see past the black that had enveloped his vision since the acidic venom had hit them. “You’re seriously okay? Bobby wouldn’t say anything, and you’ve not acted like it, but you’re damned good at hiding shit.”

Sam grabbed the rough, calloused, familiar hands and cupped his own face with them. “There’s nobody else around. Try to actually do like I’ve been telling you, and look. Let your hands see what your eyes can’t. You can dismantle, clean and reassemble a rifle blindfolded, so you know how to. Just trust.” _Trust them, and trust me here, Dean. This isn’t easy, you know_ , Sam thought, but kept it silent.

It took a few moments before Dean’s hands shakily moved, thumbs brushing along his hairline, fingers checking for any wounds. The same routine of a thousand hunts, the combination of adoration and worry convey by the touch almost as familiar as breathing, and Sam sucked in a breath, trying to convince his dick that no, Dean wasn’t trying to be arousing. Dean shifted, thumbs sweeping across his cheekbones in their cataloging, before the hands slid down his neck, fingers tracing his jugular and carotid, and Sam shivered, swallowing hard.

Dean, of course, froze instantly, eyes wide. “Sam?”

“I’m okay, Dean.” He wanted to wince at how rough his voice was, but Dean chuckled wetly, a knowing and familiar smirk crossing his face. He didn’t say anything though, just ran light fingertips over Sam’s shoulders, coaxing up goosebumps in his wake. He stopped long enough to tug the shirts free before he hesitantly settled his hands on Sam’s chest, fingers light and questing as he tried to map out where he was. The instant Dean’s pinkie brushed against Sam’s pebbled nipple, though, he chuckled again, cocky and smug, and bittersweet amusement warred with the arousal for a few moments.

That was resolved quickly though, when Dean shifted to his knees, leaning in close. “I don’t know if I’m doing this right, Sam,” he whispered. “I don’t think my fingers are quite sensitive enough anymore.” Sam started to worry, but Dean’s mouth pressed against his collarbone in a quiet kiss, Dean rocking a little of his weight forward, and Sam complied, easing them both horizontal on the floor. Dean traced a line of kisses, as clearly as if he could see, right to his aching nipple, and Sam hissed, letting go of the worry and fretting he’d been holding on so tightly to for the last few weeks. Bit his lip and tried to not arch under the questing fingers that stroked his ribs so lightly, under the plush mouth that bit and licked and suckled so teasingly. Fought to keep his hands still and flat on the floor, to keep from rolling them over and taking back control, knowing Dean needed this, needed to be the one leading right now.

And when Dean’s deftly talented fingers proved their knowledge of how to unfasten jeans, Sam didn’t think much more.


End file.
